Sitting cross-legged on a rock, Fenja overlooked the beach, her bow and quiver resting at her side, her icy blonde braid tousled by the sea spray. The sky was clearing after the violent storm the night before, and the salty air filled her lungs. In front of her, the waves crashed against the rocks before dying on the pebble-strewn shore, only to retreat in an endless, eternal dance. The wild landscape of Navika exuded a certain serenity, a peace Fenja cherished.
Fenja watched Aisling from a distance. Her young companion was kneeling in a small garden of oceanic plants she had carefully cultivated right in the sand. She seemed focused, her slender hands delicately handling the stems and roots with precise care. The seaweed and other marine vegetation, which should never have thrived here, were flourishing under her attentive care. It was as if the sea itself accepted this intrusion of life upon its shore.
The young healer had this strange determination to make anything grow, anywhere, even in the most barren or unlikely places. It was her way of fighting despair: she made life triumph, every time, with a quiet stubbornness.
It was a familiar sight for Fenja. A rare one in such a harsh world. On Nimrach, everyone learned to fight from childhood, a tradition passed down from the first survivors. Those who had fled Earth after the Apocalypse had carried with them the sense of injustice that gnawed at them. An injustice that had fueled anger, and then vengeance.
They were all prepared, every one of them. From the start, they had been taught that humanity would one day return to Earth to reclaim its Kingdom, devastated by the war between angels and demons. But this dream of returning had never resonated with Fenja. She was among those for whom Earth was nothing more than a distant memory, a myth passed down by the elders. What was the point of fighting for a world they had never known? Why join a war that didn't concern them, a war they had been victims of before even understanding it?
At twenty-two years old, Fenja did not dream of distant lands. She didn't want to waste her time training for a battle that might never come. In her eyes, humanity's survival depended on their ability to adapt to Nimrach, to accept this world as their new home. Many, more and more of them, thought the same among the younger generation. They had grown up here, beneath the storms of this wild world, far from the dreams of vengeance held by their elders.
Aisling too, and yet she wasn't one of them.
Fenja looked away for a moment, gazing at the distant Sea of Mists, losing herself in thought. Aisling was an orphan, just like her. Perhaps that was the foundation of their friendship, Aisling being the closest thing she had to a little sister. Fenja's parents had died at sea when she was three, taken by a storm while trying to travel from their home island to that of Navika. She had been taken in by the hunters, and especially Ceorl, the master hunter, who taught her how to survive, how to track game, how to slip between trees like a shadow. But Aisling… it was different.
The young woman had been found as a baby, abandoned near the Reflecting Pool like an offering. Adopted by Ren, Aisling had grown up under the protection of the Keeper of Memories, destined to become the next Keeper in turn. Yet that destiny seemed to weigh more heavily on her, perhaps more than she was willing to admit.
For Fenja, this was yet another reason to distance herself from these legends of justice and reconquest. Earth was no longer their world. Nimrach, harsh and unforgiving as it was, was their home now. They needed to learn to respect it, to take what they could from it, to survive here—not in fleeting dreams of distant battles.
Aisling, on the other hand, seemed obsessed with finding a solution, with understanding the role humanity had to play in this cosmic war that was beyond them. Fenja found her admirable, in a way, but also hopelessly idealistic, not to say naive.
Suddenly, she sensed a familiar presence approaching, already knowing who it was before he even spoke. Subtlety had never been Idris' strong suit. With a half-amused, half-exasperated smile, she didn't move as he came closer, his heavy steps on the rocks announcing him. The young soldier with dark skin and honey-colored eyes crouched beside her, his gaze following hers. He squinted towards the beach.
"Let me guess, another child born without a soul, right? That always makes her... like this. But maybe it's for the best."
Fenja remained silent, but she could already feel the anger rising in her. Idris always thought he had the answers to everything, about everyone. But he didn't understand—not really.
"We need strong children to carry on the fight. Those born without souls... well, maybe they just aren't ready yet."
The young huntress couldn't hold back an annoyed click of her tongue. She finally turned her head towards him, her piercing blue gaze full of reproach.
"Since when are you back?" she asked, her tone sharp, cutting off his insulting musings.
Idris shrugged, not the least bit bothered by the irritation in her voice.
"This morning," he replied, standing up proudly, hands on his hips. "We finally managed to calm things down in Tyrandel and Velora. We need to remind everyone that we must stay united. If we start quarreling among brothers, we'll never stand a chance when the day comes to join the fight in the End War."
He paused, puffing out his chest, his gaze fixed on the horizon as if he could already see that glorious future.
Fenja rolled her eyes, not even trying to hide her exasperation. She knew all too well how Idris saw the world: with that blind pride inherited from their ancestors, the ones who had left Earth with the hope of one day reclaiming it. Idris wore that legacy like a badge of honor, convinced that their destiny was to return and reclaim their lost Kingdom, no matter the cost. He thought he was ready, just like the others who dreamed of glorious battles and revenge.
She had long since lost count of how many times they had argued about this. Idris and she were complete opposites, utterly incapable of agreeing on what humanity should do with its future. Aisling, always in the middle, often tried to ease the tension with her gentle empathy and desire to see the good in everyone. But even Aisling couldn't erase the fundamental differences between them.
Fenja couldn't hold back any longer.
"When you're done acting like you're the heir of the Protector herself, maybe you'll start caring about the people who are actually here."
"That's exactly what I'm doing," Idris turned to her, his eyebrows furrowing with irritation. "I'm protecting my people."
"No, all you're doing is puffing yourself up, imagining yourself in one of those heroic legends the elders keep repeating. Do you really think war is like that? That you'd last two minutes in a real battle? You don't know anything about war."
Idris flushed with anger, clearly offended, and opened his mouth to snap back, ready to hurl a sharp retort. But before he could say anything, a soft yet firm voice interrupted them.
"Stop it, please," Aisling pleaded, straightening up, her hands still covered in dirt resting lightly on her hips.
She had approached without anyone noticing, her arms still marked by the damp soil from her garden. Her face was slightly flushed from the effort, a few strands of her curly hair sticking to her forehead. But it wasn't physical exhaustion that weighed on her. It was her green eyes, darkened by distress, that caught Fenja's attention. Working in the garden hadn't brought her peace.
"Aisling, you're only hurting yourself," Fenja shrugged and tried to take a gentler tone, though she couldn't quite let go of the reproach in her voice. "The sooner you accept the world we live in, the better it'll be for you. Otherwise, you'll end up like Idris and his delusions."
Idris turned toward her, ready to argue again, his eyes flashing with anger. But Aisling sighed before he could say a word, visibly weary of their endless bickering.
"You two never stop…" she muttered, more to herself than to them. "Earth, Nimrach ... it's all about the people, not the place. So you can tell me to stop when you've delivered soulless children yourselves. There must be a way to do more than just survive on these salt-eaten rocks where one in ten children survives... More than just waiting for a call to reclaim an Earth that... that might never welcome us back."
Her words hit Fenja and Idris like a cold shock. For a moment, they stopped arguing and looked at each other, uncertain. The silence stretched between them, heavy like the sky after the storm the day before. It was Idris who broke the silence, crossing his arms as he studied Aisling with a newfound intensity.
"And so, what alternative do you suggest?"
Aisling slowly picked up her cloak and bag, shaking her head slightly, a mischievous smile tugged at her lips.
"I don't know… yet... But... I can only keep searching, right?"
"You want to go back there again?" Fenja sighed, knowing exactly what Aisling was getting at.
A fleeting smile passed over Idris's lips. "The library? I'm in."
"If we get caught, we'll be in trouble," the huntress shook her head, exasperated by his blind enthusiasm. "Big trouble."
"I don't see what could be worse than stagnating here," Aisling shrugged.
The three friends climbed back up from the beach, their steps in rhythm with the sound of the waves behind them. The main village of Navika spread out before them, under the shadow of the Temple-Tree, rooted in an era of wood and metal. Round houses with thatched roofs lined the dirt paths, and fires burned in front of the hearths, sending thin wisps of smoke into the sky.
On the way, they passed a group of youths training in combat, their blades clashing with metallic bursts and enthusiastic shouts. Elders supervised the sparring, while nearby, bare-chested men fed a forge, hammering iron and steel. Briana, Idris's mother and the general of the soldiers on this island, was overseeing everything with her sharp gaze. When she saw them pass by, a grimace tugged at the corner of her mouth, very much like a warning that said, 'What are you three up to this time?'
Further on, women carried baskets of freshly picked vegetables, their faces weathered by labor and sea winds. Men, armed with heavy hammers and wooden chisels, repaired boats, chatting with fishermen who mended their nets. Hunters traded pelts and meat in the marketplace, while a few children played knucklebones, carefree.
Navika was not just another isolated village; it housed a sacred sanctuary for all surviving humanity on Nimrach. Here stood the Temple-Tree, a majestic spiritual refuge for those seeking answers, and also the source of wisdom passed down by the Guardian of Memories. People came from all over Nimrach to drink from his knowledge, hoping to find answers to their fate.
But Aisling, Fenja, and Idris weren't headed for the Temple-Tree. Beyond the houses and workshops, hidden by greenery, lay the chamber of the Reflecting Pool, the ancient passage that had allowed their ancestors to escape the ravaged Earth and find refuge on Nimrach. Since then, it had become a sacred place, a relic of the great exodus. As they approached, they saw the village herbalist, an old man named Ciaran, kneeling in the grass, picking medicinal plants. He noticed them and greeted them with a friendly nod.
"Are you still training to gaze into the Reflecting Pool?" he asked in a deep, gentle voice, his graying beard fluttering in the wind. "Don't be too hard on yourself if you can't. It's a privilege reserved for the Keeper of Memories."
Aisling gave him a polite smile, a spark in her eyes. "I'll keep trying," she replied calmly, hiding her true intentions.
"The old man would lose his mind if he knew what she could really do with that pool," Idris leaned toward Fenja, whispering with a grin.
They reached the entrance to the cave, where vines framed the opening in the rock, forming a natural arch nearly as old as the passage itself. Inside, the bluish light of the Reflecting Pool bathed the room, creating an atmosphere as mystical as it was solemn. Offerings were placed around the pool: ancient sculptures, symbols carved into the stone, fruits, dried flowers.
The cave's ceiling rose high above them, carved and shaped over the years, a testament to the many souls who had walked this sacred ground. At the center, the Reflecting Pool itself seemed alive. It resembled a well, but its water didn't descend into the depths. Instead, it rose to the surface, smooth as oil, gently rippling, as if reacting to the presence of the visitors.
"This is the last time, Aisling," Fenja whispered softly.
"You say that every time," Idris, ever carefree, rolled his eyes with a teasing smile. "No one will notice we're gone. Relax."
Aisling said nothing. She looked around, making sure they hadn't been followed. Then, with calm resolve, she moved toward the center of the Reflecting Pool, her friends by her side. The bluish light reflecting in her eyes, she extended her hand over the strange water.
In her mind, a clear and powerful thought took shape: "A place where I'll have time."
There was a flash of brilliant light, as if the entire cave suddenly ignited, and the next instant, the calm returned. The chamber of the pool was now empty.
Aisling had discovered the secret of the pool by accident, about ten years ago, when she was just a child, curious and full of dreams. She had watched Ren gaze into the Reflecting Pool countless times, summoning visions of the present, coming storms, or looming conflicts. A gift the Protector had bestowed upon the Guardians, to use the pool for its visions. It seemed like a mysterious and benevolent ally, aiding in the survival of their people by foreseeing disasters and easing tensions before they erupted. But it only obeyed the Guardian, responding to no one else.
One day, driven by impatience and loneliness, Aisling decided to try. She had sneaked up to the Reflecting Pool, her small bare feet barely brushing the cool ground of the cave. She leaned over the water, her child's reflection distorted by the oily ripples. She whispered, first timidly, then with increasing desperation. She asked the pool to show her the Earth, the planet the elders spoke of with such nostalgia and melancholy.
She had asked to see the world she had never known, the one whose legends echoed throughout Nimrach. But the pool remained silent, as smooth and impassive as ever. Nothing reflected in its murky waters. Not the Earth, not even a glimpse of the other worlds rumored to exist beyond the veil.
She then asked the question that weighed most heavily on her heart: she wanted to see her parents. She had begged them to appear, hoping the pool, with its mysterious power, could fill the aching void within her. But once again, only the vast emptiness answered her. No image, no sound. Nothing.
Months passed, yet Aisling couldn't bring herself to give up. Then one day, when she was overwhelmed by a feeling of loneliness so deep it seemed insurmountable, she returned to the Reflecting Pool. This time, she didn't want to see the past or know the future. She simply wanted to escape, too small for a sorrow too great. She sat in the center of the pool, knees pulled up to her chest, and, through desperate tears, she whispered:
"Take me somewhere else. A place where I'll have time."
And suddenly, everything changed.
The world around her faded in a burst of light. When she opened her eyes again, she was no longer on Nimrach. She had discovered an entirely different realm, a place where time itself seemed suspended. She called it the Twilight Realm.
It was a strange and enchanting land, somewhere between reality and dream. Everything was bathed in a soft, unreal light, an eternal twilight where neither day nor night truly existed. The sky, if it could be called that, was an infinite veil of deep rosy violet, streaked with golden filaments of light that moved slowly, like lightning restrained by some invisible force.
The landscape consisted of vast plains, gently rolling under a silver mist, with shadowy mountains rising in the distance, their eternal snows glimmering even from afar. Everything in this world seemed both tangible and ethereal, as if anything could evaporate at any moment. The trees, with their silvered, translucent leaves, shivered at the slightest breath of nonexistent wind, creating a crystalline melody that softly resonated in the air.
The ground beneath her feet was covered with a thin layer of frost, softly cracking with each of her steps. Where once grass had thrived, it was now frozen under the ice, its blades shimmering under the diffuse light of the eternal twilight. Small streams were frozen mid-flow, the waters suspended in eternal motion, forming translucent sculptures that echoed faintly, like distant whispers, directly into Aisling's mind.
It was a silent place, save for a sound like a calming voice humming sinuous melodies. It took years for Aisling to realize that these sounds came from crystals embedded in the rocks or near the streams. No creatures seemed to live here, at least not at first glance. Yet, sometimes, in the corner of her eye, a fleeting shadow would pass, elusive and impossible to grasp. This world had its own consciousness, an ancient and patient intelligence, but one that revealed itself only in subtle impressions, rather than words or visions. Further away stood a ruined city, which seemed directly connected to the Reflecting Pool from this side.
Time held no sway here. Aisling quickly understood that minutes, hours, and days had no meaning in this space. It was easy to get lost, to surrender to it. For all the time spent here, not a moment passed on Nimrach. Eventually, she shared her secret with her childhood friends, probably too scared to go alone. Even as a child, Fenja made her promise not to stay there for more than a few hours. She was right, of course. Aisling knew that this place, however soothing, could only ever be a temporary escape.
But if she was to find answers, it would be here.